Personal. If I didn't have so much shit on my mind, I wouldn't need more than this for the night, but I do. I have to have it. It's all I have right now, man. My friend, the white line, who I am so conveniently reminded of each time I travel a major highway or see a snowstorm or a dash of baby powder, sitting like a tease inside my own fucking house.
I hope we can get more. We have to. After the past few days without sleep this fuckin' BOB deal... I just can't go to sleep. Too dangerous.
AND WHAT, LAURA PALMER, IT'S BEEN TWO, THREE DAYS SINCE YOU FIRST SNORTED... YOU ARE A MESSED-UP BITCH... STILL HERE.
Fuck you, BOB. So I am what you always told me I was. A little bitch, dirty and sleazy and fucking people to pay for drugs. You win. You fed me pain when I had none, and when I did have pain, you said it was my own fault... I think you are the most repulsive, evil, conniving man ever to step foot in my life, where you had no invitation, no right. What in the fuck do you want! You cheat by never ever having to argue with someone strong enough to fight you... Conquer someone like that, then I'll admit you've won. I'll even follow you. No arguments.
Laura Palmer believes you are a cheat.
L
June 24, 1987
Dear Diary,
It is very late at night and I do not care to check in or to alert someone of where I am or even if I am safe. I don't care to think about it. I don't want to know any more about myself, from anyone... too many lies have entered me, like bullets that made wounds... slow bleeding. It would be years later that I would notice. Begin to feel the weakness. Fall into the world of drugs. The world of sex for show and power. For strength I thought I wanted, I went to the wrong people.
The part of me with the ability to decide for myself whether something is right or wrong has been taken away. A decision lasts only a moment for me before I doubt it and curse myself for ever thinking I was capable of choosing right over wrong... I should have learned ages ago how to remember you. Perhaps I could have saved myself some very sad moments... very bad dreams, and several hundred desperate attempts at regaining my better self. The one who welcomed you in. The one to whom you owe an entire lifetime.
I certainly hope you got what you needed.
I can't have good things, not now. I don't know the road to responsibility, the way I used to. So simple to just walk down...
I have sent Troy away. Set him free with several lashes to the ass (a method that kept me running for some time, as you must remember, BOB).
He's gone. I don't deserve him, nor does he deserve a life that begins and ends each day in a small square box. A reminder, if you will, that he is not free, but owned.
I let the pony go. One of the last things I had hoped for before recalling all of your... shit. It doesn't matter anyway.
I hope Troy understood why I made him leave me.
I'm so afraid that anything I touch runs the risk of contact with BOB. I'll be investigating death... don't worry. I can feel you deciding how and when. You bastard.
Laura
November 12, 1987
Dear Diary,
I hope God reads this:
I could use the help.
It is definitely the end of my life, the end of my belief in myself... trust... everything gone! Leo and Bobby came to get me at the stables because I could hardly walk another step. Bobby said he had called home for me and told them he was taking me out to a surprise dinner... we'd be back late.
That was sweet and very considerate of him, I must admit. But like I told Leo and Bobby from the backseat as I changed clothes (again a thank-you to Bobby for borrowing something for me to wear of Donna's-who tells Bobby she is worried about me). I'll admit surprises here, not that I doubt Donna's loyalty or her friendship, but I believe now too much in BOB. I told them both that I was worried. That I had good reason not to leave any one place, all night long. I said I was concerned enough that, if we all agreed, we could turn back and forget
I hope we can get more. We have to. After the past few days without sleep this fuckin' BOB deal... I just can't go to sleep. Too dangerous.
AND WHAT, LAURA PALMER, IT'S BEEN TWO, THREE DAYS SINCE YOU FIRST SNORTED... YOU ARE A MESSED-UP BITCH... STILL HERE.
Fuck you, BOB. So I am what you always told me I was. A little bitch, dirty and sleazy and fucking people to pay for drugs. You win. You fed me pain when I had none, and when I did have pain, you said it was my own fault... I think you are the most repulsive, evil, conniving man ever to step foot in my life, where you had no invitation, no right. What in the fuck do you want! You cheat by never ever having to argue with someone strong enough to fight you... Conquer someone like that, then I'll admit you've won. I'll even follow you. No arguments.
Laura Palmer believes you are a cheat.
L
June 24, 1987
Dear Diary,
It is very late at night and I do not care to check in or to alert someone of where I am or even if I am safe. I don't care to think about it. I don't want to know any more about myself, from anyone... too many lies have entered me, like bullets that made wounds... slow bleeding. It would be years later that I would notice. Begin to feel the weakness. Fall into the world of drugs. The world of sex for show and power. For strength I thought I wanted, I went to the wrong people.
The part of me with the ability to decide for myself whether something is right or wrong has been taken away. A decision lasts only a moment for me before I doubt it and curse myself for ever thinking I was capable of choosing right over wrong... I should have learned ages ago how to remember you. Perhaps I could have saved myself some very sad moments... very bad dreams, and several hundred desperate attempts at regaining my better self. The one who welcomed you in. The one to whom you owe an entire lifetime.
I certainly hope you got what you needed.
I can't have good things, not now. I don't know the road to responsibility, the way I used to. So simple to just walk down...
I have sent Troy away. Set him free with several lashes to the ass (a method that kept me running for some time, as you must remember, BOB).
He's gone. I don't deserve him, nor does he deserve a life that begins and ends each day in a small square box. A reminder, if you will, that he is not free, but owned.
I let the pony go. One of the last things I had hoped for before recalling all of your... shit. It doesn't matter anyway.
I hope Troy understood why I made him leave me.
I'm so afraid that anything I touch runs the risk of contact with BOB. I'll be investigating death... don't worry. I can feel you deciding how and when. You bastard.
Laura
November 12, 1987
Dear Diary,
I hope God reads this:
I could use the help.
It is definitely the end of my life, the end of my belief in myself... trust... everything gone! Leo and Bobby came to get me at the stables because I could hardly walk another step. Bobby said he had called home for me and told them he was taking me out to a surprise dinner... we'd be back late.
That was sweet and very considerate of him, I must admit. But like I told Leo and Bobby from the backseat as I changed clothes (again a thank-you to Bobby for borrowing something for me to wear of Donna's-who tells Bobby she is worried about me). I'll admit surprises here, not that I doubt Donna's loyalty or her friendship, but I believe now too much in BOB. I told them both that I was worried. That I had good reason not to leave any one place, all night long. I said I was concerned enough that, if we all agreed, we could turn back and forget
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